Sons and Daughters of Winter, Children of Freya
by NickeltheRed
Summary: Eric reflects back on Freya's deeds during her burial...and they'd carry on the legend of the Ice Queen with white hair and a touch so cold that it could bring the harness of Winter into the middle of Summer. Post the Winter's War.


**I own nothing. All rights go to the filmmakers.**

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 _"A mother loves her children unconditionally. However they wrong her, she'll carry on loving them."_

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Appropriately, all the surviving Huntsfolk decided to stay at Castel Frost following the tragic-sweet death of Queen Freya; they being granted the governance and protection of the Lands that Remained White, took control of their own army, trading supplies, its woods and her property.

Tull had come forward in fact, insisting on hosting a proper burial for Freya. Some discussion took place and a vote was cast amongst them. In the end, both Sara and Eric too agreed that perhaps, it was simply the right thing to do. There was no need to spite Freya now. After all, Eric noted what she was like in her last moments on this earth. Her cold heart had thawed out, allowing a quiet fondness to shine through her eyes as she passed. Eric knew that Freya had raised them to fight, to win crowns, to thrive in strength as brothers and sisters. Freya, however, did _not_ raise them to be slaughtered like cattle led straight to the butchery. He could recall her frantic face perfectly when they were getting pushed around and flung back by Ravenna's deadly waves of magic. Freya didn't approve of that. Her sturdy wall of ice crystal had shot up from the floor, towering between them and Ravenna to protect _them_ , not her sister.

They would not fall at the hands of Ravenna. Freya ensured that they could rise to victory again, together.

As Freya's body was presently laid to rest down in the sepulcher, her words were still ringing in the back of his mind.

 _"Leave my children alone!"_

In the corner of his eye, he caught Tull kissing his dark fingertips to the freeze-scars on his cheek in reflection. It never seemed fair to Eric at first, none of it. But without Freya, he wouldn't be standing here today. He wouldn't have Sara. They wouldn't have each other. None of them would be who they are if weren't for Freya's instructions: strong, capable warriors who would never bend in defeat so easily. By putting their needs ahead of hers when it truly had mattered during that final hour, then dying for them, Freya had indeed freed them.

So, with this strange sadness heavying their hearts, it was time. They must leave Freya behind. Though this would not change the past. Freya was, all in all, the mother they all knew best. The only mother they would _ever_ know.

Eric couldn't remember the real woman who had once given birth to him—or at least, he couldn't remember what she looked like, or what she sounded like before the raid occurred.

He had learned that a mother's love knew no bounds in its vastness, or even in its severity or strictness, but it was _real_. Freya's love for them was real, despite her own rules. It was always alive, seeded deeply beneath the ice and it was blinding, and all-consuming.

Losing her in that way had only made Eric's resentment for her turn into a single stab of guilt of all things. Withstanding the whole burial rite with a stone-hard face was harder than he had originally anticipated.

He frowned, and felt Sara's hand grab his own, gently, knowingly.

On their way back to the main gates of Castle Frost he shared a brief glance with Sara and the few other Huntsman left standing, leisurely trailing behind them.

Right then, Eric had known the truth. He had forgiven Freya since there was was an unavoidable affection attached to her memory, versus those he had of Ravenna. He'd never admit to it out loud, though Eric'd had respected Freya even if it was rough and fractured on the surface. For sometimes, a son would stray from the path.

Freya was not like other mothers who sang lullabies and baked bread. She was stern, somewhat bitter, and she was a feared by many. But she was _theirs_ as much as they were hers. They were unbreakable. And afterwards, Erick had thought that their enemies would know this as well in the event that they would ever dare attacking the Lands that Remained White in the future.

Why? Because they were Huntsfolk, sons and daughters of Winter. Children of Freya.

They had felt a fire burning in their hearts and had ice settling in their veins.

Thus, the years would continue to sail by them and as a new generation of Huntfolk flourished amid their brothers and sisters, they'd use Freya's fortress and her name to make foes quake in their knees. They'd honor her as the fierce mother who had saved from Revanna's madness, not as the woman who'd stolen them away from the village long ago. To their own children, they'd tell them the dramatic story of how their clan here began, tell them of how they were all children of the children of Freya too.

Over and over, they'd carry on the legend of the Ice Queen who had white hair and a touch so cold that it could bring the harness of Winter right in the middle of Summer.


End file.
